


Alchemy of Attraction

by ravenclawkward, wanderingeyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Good Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Minor Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Monster of the Week, POV Derek Hale, POV Multiple, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Feels, Sheriff Stilinski Ships It, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, The Pack Ships It, canon typical peril, scientist!Stiles, sterek reverse quickie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/pseuds/ravenclawkward, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingeyre/pseuds/wanderingeyre
Summary: Once the table is set up, Stiles picks up the box and starts pulling out beakers, a hot plate, some Erlenmeyer flasks, a bunsen burner, and a bunch of other equipment and laying them out on the table. The last things to come out of the box are sealed containers with labels.Derek is starting to get a very bad feeling about this.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 177
Collections: Sterek Reverse Quickie 2020





	Alchemy of Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Sterek Reverse Bang 2020.
> 
> Art by the wonderful ravenclawkward.
> 
> Prompt: “Derek doesn’t know how to feel about Stiles’ new alchemy hobby…”

There’s something about the rhythm of Saturdays that Derek has come to love. In the mornings, he goes on a run, meanders through the local farmer’s market, picks up everything else he needs at the regular store, then heads home to prepare for pack night. When things were bad four years ago, after the Nogitsune, Stiles started forcing the pack to spend some quality time together. It stuck and it’s one of Derek’s favorite things in his life, but he would never admit it out loud. Stiles would be insufferable. 

Winter break has started so the entire pack is back in town, finally, and they should all be trickling into the loft in a few hours. Though no one but Lydia went to school out of state, there's an itch between Derek’s shoulder blades that never quite disappears when the pack isn’t home where they belong.

Derek pulls green peppers, onions, and celery from the bags he got at the market. The nights are colder now and, with all the mouths to feed, a pot of chili and some pans of cornbread seem like a good idea. He’s still washing the vegetables when he hears it.

There’s only one vehicle in Beacon Hills with that particular engine noise. A bright baby blue Jeep held together with duct tape, determination, and love. 

Stiles.

Derek grabs the edge of the counter and takes a deep breath. Stiles was home three weeks ago, right before he had to buckle down and study for finals, and he comes home as often as he can, but it’s never enough for Derek. The hole Stiles leaves when he’s gone is deeper and more painful than all the others combined, and Derek has to get this neediness under control before Stiles gets here. Years of denial and yearning should make this easier, but there’s always one moment where Derek teeters on the edge before he yanks himself back. 

Stiles is happy. He has thrived in college, made some new friends that don’t drag him into danger, has excelled in classes like Derek knew he would, and Derek desperately wants Stiles to have some of the normal life he’d been denied in Beacon Hills. Stiles deserves to have choices. There are so few things Derek can give Stiles, but the space to have a normal life, if that’s what he wants, is one of them.

Derek listens as the sound of the Jeep gets closer and parks in the spot closest to the stairs that lead up to the loft. He expects to hear stomping up the stairs, but instead he hears some very colorful cursing in the parking lot. He sighs, washes the onion off his hands, and goes downstairs to see what has Stiles riled up.

There’s a box by the rear wheel of the Jeep and Stiles is wrestling with a large metal folding table, trying to get it out of the Jeep. 

“Need some help?” Derek asks.

Stiles yelps and almost drops the table on his foot, but Derek catches in smoothly.

“A little warning. One of these days you’re going to give me an actual heart attack or cause me to maim myself in some gruesome fashion. Make a little noise next time.”

Stiles’s color is high, but he looks good. He’s lost the thinness of youth the past couple of years and is all lean, ropey muscle. His hair is longer than it was in high school, curling around his ears, and he’s as tall as Derek when he stands up straight, which he does less than he should. Stiles smiles at Derek, and Derek returns the expression.

Stiles points to the table in Derek’s hands. “Thanks for coming down to help. You can carry the table.” Stiles closes the back of the Jeep and leans over to heft up the box. He grunts under the weight and the insides of the box clink together. 

“What is all this for?” Derek tries to subtly sniff the air to see what’s in the box.

The Cheshire cat smile that breaks over Stiles’s face is a portent of nothing good, Derek knows. “You’ll see,” Stiles replies in a sing-song voice that Derek trusts even less.

Derek sighs and follows Stiles up the stairs, knowing that Stiles will not keep whatever it is to himself for long. Derek can smell the excitement wafting off Stiles and he is loath to smother it. He knows that makes him overindulgent sometimes, but Derek likes his pack being happy and he likes a happy Stiles most of all. 

When they get upstairs, Stiles pauses in the doorway of the loft, then he walks purposefully to the corner by the window. He sets down the box and takes the table from Derek, flipping it and pulling out the foldable legs. Once the table is set up, Stiles picks up the box and starts pulling out beakers, a hot plate, some Erlenmeyer flasks, a bunsen burner, and a bunch of other equipment and laying them out on the table. The last things to come out of the box are sealed containers with labels.

Derek is starting to get a very bad feeling about this. “What is all this? Stiles, why did you bring this stuff here?”

“I can’t do this at home.” Stiles avoids meeting Derek’s eyes.

“Because you don’t want your dad to know what you’re doing?”

Stiles hedges. “Because I set fire to the carpet in my room. And maybe one of the bath towels.”

Derek puts his hands on his hips and uses his alpha voice, even though he knows Stiles ignores it most of the time. Derek occasionally wants to bite Stiles just so he can order the other man around. “Stiles, you can’t burn down my loft.”

“I know. There’s hardly anything flammable in here.” Stiles is arranging his equipment and still refusing to look at Derek. “Might be an improvement.” He mumbles the last bit.

“I heard that and I resent it. There’s real furniture in here now.” Lydia helped him refurnish the loft three years ago. There is a large sectional sofa, two love seats, bean bags, and a large flat screen tv for Pack movie nights.

Stiles stops what he’s doing and snares Derek with his large brown eyes. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Derek can’t refuse that look and he never was going to say no. He rarely tells Stiles no unless he’s trying to annoy him on purpose. “Don’t make anything explode and don’t burn down the loft.”

Stiles does a fist pump in the air. “No promises.”

“There’s a fire extinguisher under the sink in the kitchen.” Derek rolls his eyes and goes back to the kitchen to finish chopping onions.

Stiles is talking to himself as he sets up the equipment, and Derek listens even though most of it is nonsense. The cadence and tenor of Stiles in his loft fills a crack that Derek keeps hidden and he can feel himself relax into it. While Stiles might do some real damage to the loft, the benefit of having the other man in his space for extended periods is not lost on Derek.

After the chili is simmering and two large pans of cornbread are in the oven, Derek takes a glass of water over to Stiles. Stiles thanks him and brushes his fingers against Derek’s as he takes the glass. Derek runs his hand over Stiles’s neck, scenting him since he didn’t do it before. Stiles may be human, but he’s been around wolves enough to understand the importance of touch in pack connections.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re working on?”

Stiles’s eyes brighten further. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Never a good sign,” Derek quips.

[](https://imgur.com/5tMqQFN)

Stiles frowns at him but there is mirth in his eyes. “We’re always running low on different kinds of wolfsbane or having to painfully burn it out of your furry asses or having to dry it out for bullets. What if I could make a concentrated tincture or some other kind of liquid that we could use on weapons? Could I make some other concoction that would also work as an antidote? If I concentrate it, could we use less and then make our supplies last longer?”

Derek nods. “Those sound like great ideas.”

Stiles is bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I know, right? I’m sure someone has thought of it before, so I’ve also been doing a bunch of research and talking to Deaton. He thinks there’s some merit to this idea too, which you know means it’s brilliant, even if he did deliver it in the most even deadpanned tone as possible.”

Derek chuckles, but doesn’t comment.

Stiles shifts on his feet. “It’s okay, right, that I brought all this here? I mean, I know you acted a little put out when I got here, but I don’t want to be here if you don’t want me to be.”

Stiles’s smell develops a tinge of sourness. He’s worried. Derek reaches over and touches Stiles on the shoulder. Derek has long since learned that so many of the ways he touches Stiles can be covered by the need for an alpha to touch pack members. There’s the familiar heat under his palm that he only has with Stiles.

“Stiles, you’re always welcome here. Even if you do set the place on fire.”

Stiles’s relief is immediate and his smile is so wide it makes Derek’s heart constrict, and, for the millionth time, Derek is thankful that Stiles doesn’t have werewolf hearing so he can’t hear the way Derek reacts to his presence.

Erica and Boyd are the first to arrive. They both went to school locally and refurbished the floor above Derek. Erica squeals when she sees Stiles and throws herself at him. Stiles catches her, but they both fall back onto the couch in a pile of laughter. 

Boyd rolls his eyes and puts the pies he’s carrying on the counter. “Nice to see you, Stiles.”

Isaac, Allison, and Lydia are close on their heels. Isaac and Allison have been together for a few years now, and Isaac has been training with Chris Argent. Derek is proud of the pup, who had a rough start. He’s become an efficient, if sometimes ruthless, fighter.

Lydia comes over to Derek and wraps him in a hug. Derek returns the gesture without hesitation, sliding his hand over Lydia’s neck and arms as they break apart.

“Where’s Jordan?” he asks.

“He’s working, but he’ll be here before dinner. Noah makes sure him and Boyd aren’t scheduled for pack nights.” Lydia squeezes Derek’s arm then moves away to greet the others.

Cora breezes in. She has a loft in the building on the same floor as Derek. Eventually, he wants to renovate the entire building so there’s room for everyone. He has contractors lined up to start working on it after the new year. Derek wants at least part of the building to be ready for the summer and he wants all of it to be done before the pack starts graduating. Those that choose to stay in Beacon Hills should have a place to stay.

Derek hears the rest of the pack, minus Jordan, coming up the stairs. Scott, Liam, Theo, Malia, Mason, and Kira burst through the door. Malia goes straight to Cora and the two wrap their arms around each other. Those two are thick as thieves and twice as much trouble, but Derek is pleased to see how deep their friendship has become. 

After that, it’s a cacophony of greetings, laughter, and good natured ribbing. A few years ago, Derek would have stayed in the corner and watched all of it from there, but he’s in the center of it now, moving from person to person and letting the presence of his pack settle into the spaces they leave in their absence. His eyes meet Stiles over the group and they both smile at each other. There’s no way Derek deserves this, but he’s gotten beyond questioning the good in his life. He hopes his mother would be proud of what he’s built.

Jordan shows up just in time for dinner and they sit down to a raucous meal. Derek ends up next to Stiles and their bodies find touch points throughout the meal, elbows, feet, knees, and the occasional press of a thigh. Derek leans into it and allows himself this because he knows this is all he can have of Stiles.

After dinner, Stiles and Theo argue over what movie the pack should watch. They are nose to nose yelling and Stiles is waving his arms wildly, when Lydia walks over to the tv and starts _Legally Blonde_. Stiles and Theo back down, but Theo gets one last elbow in Stiles’s ribs before they part. Stiles laughs, a full sound that Derek can feel on his skin.

There’s some jostling for seats, but Derek knows his spot will be left open no matter how long he takes to pop all the popcorn they need. There aren’t many benefits to being an alpha over this motley crew, but they do respect some boundaries. They show they care in their own ways. Derek hands Stiles the last bowl of popcorn and sits down in the space that he and Kira have left for him. Kira curls into Derek’s side and Derek slings an arm over her shoulders. Stiles presses himself against Derek and all is right in Derek’s world.

\---

Stiles drives to the loft the next afternoon and lets himself in. Derek doesn’t appear, but Cora comes in the door while Stiles is still in the kitchen making coffee. She works as an EMT at the hospital, and Melissa has taken her under her wing. Cora’s no nonsense attitude has served her well dealing with emergencies and Stiles knows Derek is happy to have his sister close to home.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“How can you drink so much caffeine in the afternoon?”

“I have some work to do and we stayed up way too late last night.” They’d all ended up in piles around the loft after the movies, sleeping in until almost noon.

Cora opens the fridge and pours herself some juice. “Derek’s on a run. He should be back soon. We’re going to make pasta for dinner. Are you staying?”

“Yep.” Stiles gets himself some coffee, pulls his laptop and the legal pad with his notes out of his bag, and gets to work. 

Derek comes in some time later, wearing running shorts and a tank top that leaves nothing to Stiles’s imagination, and he has a very advanced imagination where Derek Hale is concerned. How anyone can look that good after running is not something Stiles can comprehend and he looks a beat too long before he remembers he’s not supposed to be looking at all. 

“Morning.” Stiles finally finds his voice.

“It’s the afternoon,” Derek says, getting a glass of water from the kitchen. 

Stiles absolutely tries and fails not to watch Derek’s throat as he drinks the water. He sees Cora watching him, clears his throat, and makes a show of looking out the window.

“So it is.” 

He winks outrageously at Derek and gets the reaction he wanted. Derek rolls his eyes and goes upstairs to shower. Stiles watches Derek’s legs as the other man goes up the stairs out of the corner of his eyes. Pulled back to where he is by Cora making a lot of noise in the kitchen, Stiles goes back to work.

He does not get so involved with his work that he does not notice when Derek comes back downstairs and settles on the couch, just inside Stiles’s line of sight, with a book. Stiles doesn’t get much work done for the next hour because he spends most of it watching Derek when he knows the other man is not looking at him. Cora sighs loudly and rolls her eyes when Stiles slides his eyes from Derek to where she is sitting on one of the loveseats.

Cora looks exactly like Derek when she rolls her eyes at Stiles like that.

Stiles, caught, feels himself blush and concentrates on the concoction he’s making. He loses himself to the task and doesn’t feel Derek come up behind him until Derek speaks.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Stiles lets out a screech and flails backwards into Derek, who steadies him with a hand at his waist which really does nothing to ease the racing of Stiles’s poor heart.

“Oh my God, a little warning.” Stiles turns around to face Derek, a mistake because it puts Stiles’s face in extreme close proximity to Derek’s face. Stiles straightens his shirt. “Must be funny, sneaking up on the human.”

Derek gives him a wolfish grin. “It is, actually.”

“I hate you.”

“Liar.”

“I wish I hated you.”

Derek laughs, and the sound does something complicated and needy to Stiles’s insides. “That’s the truth and if I didn’t know better, I’d let that give me a complex.”

“Stupid werewolves.” Stiles pulls off his safety goggles and puts them on the table.

The door to the loft opens and Boyd and Erica saunter in. “What did Derek do now? Why is he stupid?”

“I was including all werewolves in my ire,” Stiles grumbles as he heads to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.

Erica pouts, a pretty expression but there’s always something slightly menacing when she does it. “Even me?” She presses herself into Stiles.

He laughs and kisses her cheek. “Never you. You’re my favorite.”

Cora whines and moves to his other side. “I thought I was your favorite, Red.”

Stiles throws his arms around them both. “Ladies, you know I adore you both just the same.”

Erica sighs. “I hate that I know you’re telling the truth.”

“It’s okay. We all know who your favorite is.” Cora elbows Stiles in the ribs, and he can’t hide the small spike of fear and the way his face colors. He’s about to open his mouth to protest when Cora rolls her eyes again. “You’re an idiot.” She stirs something on the stove and declares, “Dinner’s ready.”

The flurry of setting the table and sitting down cover up the conversation in the kitchen, Stiles hopes. If there’s one thing he does not want to discuss, it’s his unrequited love for the grumpiest, most out of his league werewolf he knows. The werewolf in question is on the other side of the kitchen area, laying out plates and silverware while he talks to Boyd. Stiles allows himself the briefest moment of sorrow, before he buries it deep. He can’t let his emotions leak all over the room.

Cora is still next to him, missing nothing, her nostrils flaring. “Stiles,” she starts.

Stiles wraps a hand around her wrist and looks her in the eye. “Please don’t.”

She nods and turns around to start carrying pots and baking dishes to the table.

After they all sit down, Stiles asks Boyd, “Anything new at the station today?”

Boyd is the newest rookie in the Beacon Hills PD. He’s been assigned to work with Parrish and, from what Stiles’s dad has told him, is going to be a great cop once he has a little experience under his belt.

Boyd swallows the pasta he was chewing and says. “We had a missing persons case come in.”

Stiles sits up. “Details?”

Cora makes a disapproving noise. “Over dinner?”

“It’s Beacon Hills, yes over dinner.” Stiles shoves another forkful of creamy pasta with shrimp into his mouth and moans a little. “This sauce is amazing. Do not tell my dad we ate this. I left him a salad with beans on it for dinner.”

“Middle aged woman, married, two kids, house with a fence. All that. She never came home from work yesterday,” Boyd answers, then goes back to eating.

Cora kicks Derek under the table. “Maybe she got tired of her family and left.”

Derek glares at her and Cora and Stiles both laugh, earning both of them swift kicks from under the table. 

“Hey. Human who bruises easily here,” Stiles protests.

“You’ll be fine.” Derek frowns at them and keeps eating. Erica laughs, almost choking on the water she was drinking.

Cora sticks out her tongue at Derek.

“Supernatural causes?” Stiles asks Boyd.

The other man shrugs. “Jordan and I are going to talk to some people tomorrow. See what we can find.”

After dinner, Stiles drifts back over to his table while everyone cleans up. He tried to help, but Derek pushed him away. “You broke a plate last time.”

“One plate, one time.” But Stiles is glad to get back to work.

He’s trying to make a mix of wolfsbane and mistletoe. The mistletoe is poisonous to humans and both are toxic to weres and most supernaturals. Stiles wants to find a ratio that will be effective against as many enemies as possible so the pack doesn’t have to swap out weapons. Once he finds the correct ratio, he is hoping to distill it into something more powerful and toxic while also producing some kind of antidote. Stiles tunes out the rest of the room and works. At some point, Erica, Boyd, and Cora go back to their own lofts. Stiles bids them a distracted goodnight.

Stiles works, flips the switch on the lamp sitting on the table when it gets too dark, and continues until there’s a loud thump behind him. Something warm and heavy hits the back of his legs. Stiles twists and almost steps on Derek, who has collapsed on the floor behind him. The panic that sweeps over him is sharp and Stiles puts down the flask in his hand and kneels next to Derek.

Derek’s skin is pale and clammy when Stiles touches it as he looks for a pulse. Stiles puffs out a sigh of relief when he can feel Derek’s heart steady under his fingers. Next, he checks Derek for injuries, but sees nothing. He looks up at his work bench and realizes his current concoction is releasing quite a lot of fumes. Toxic to werewolves fumes.

“Dammit, you stupid werewolf, I told you to stop sneaking up on me.” The pinch of panic is close and his chest feels tight, but Stiles knows what he has to do.

Stiles opens the windows next to the table, turns on the oscillating fan he made Derek buy last summer, grabs his legal pad from the table, and starts fanning Derek in the face with it. Derek’s breathing is jerky and too fast. Stiles periodically stops waving air in Derek’s face with the notepad to check his heart rate. It’s strong and steady even though Derek’s breathing is still too fast and too shallow.

“C’mon Derek.” Stiles pats Derek’s face, then slaps it. “Wake up, Sourwolf. Please don’t die like this. It’s completely undignified. Passing out in your own house. You have to at last stay alive to slam me into walls and tell me to shut up a few more times.”

Derek’s color is starting to look less pale and Stiles leans forward, so their noses are almost touching. He stills and listens to Derek’s breathing, trying to tell if it’s slowing or if that’s just his hopeful imagination. Derek’s eyes pop open and Stiles is so close he can see the prisms of hazel in them.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks.

“I’m clearly not,” Derek growls.

Stiles is still straddling Derek, his face a breath away from the other man’s and Stiles scrambles back, falling over Derek’s legs and ending up in a pile near Derek’s hip. He doesn’t waste time being embarrassed. His relief that Derek is awake is too acute.

Derek tries to sit up but lays back down with a groan. “Dizzy.”

Stiles inches closer to Derek’s head and puts a hand over Derek’s heart, feeling the strong beat under his palm. “What happened?”

“I was watching you work, then everything got hazy and I woke up with you on top of me.” The tips of Derek’s ears pinked up.

“You were creeping on me.” Stiles leans forward.

“I was watching.” Derek grounds out between clenched teeth.

Stiles shakes his head. “You should've told me you were there. Make some damned noise or something. I would’ve told you to stay back because of the fumes.”

Derek takes a breath and Stiles is glad to see it’s deep and full. “What was it?”

“A wolfsbane and mistletoe mix.” Stiles can’t help the proud grin that spreads over his face. 

Derek’s eyes widen. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, not you. Other supernatural creepies and bad humans, yes. It’s just a little fumes. Okay, toxic, possibly deadly fumes, but you shouldn’t have been creeping up on me.” Stiles sighs. “I need a vent hood.”

Derek growls and flashes his alpha eyes at Stiles, but those lost their effect on Stiles years ago. Stiles pulls Derek into a sitting position. “Still dizzy?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Stay here. I’m going to go get you some water.” Stiles rushes to the kitchen and comes back with water and hands it to Derek. “You should lay down for a while.”

Derek drains the glass and looks at Stiles. “I don’t think I can get up the stairs.”

Stiles looks around the loft. “Hold on.” 

He turns off all the equipment on the table, checking that his mixture is ready to sit overnight, then bounds up stairs. Stiles has been in Derek’s room a few times, never alone, only when the entire pack is up here piling into Derek’s bed. Stiles pauses and takes a deep breath through his nose. He may have dulled human senses, but he can still smell Derek in this space and Stiles has to swallow past the rush of need that crashes over him. _Now is not the time._

Stiles grabs two pillows from the bed and pulls two blankets from the closet by the bathroom. Derek is still sitting where he left him. Stiles spares a moment to take in the curve of Derek’s back before placing the pillows on opposite ends of the couch. Stiles walks back over to Derek.

The other man looks up at him. “I may need some help.”

Stiles nods and takes both of Derek’s hands in his, trying to ignore the way the heat of them spreads like a fire licking his skin, and pulls Derek into a standing position. Unfortunately for them, this is not the first time they’ve carried each other through injuries. This is an often replayed song for them. Stiles maneuvers quickly to get Derek’s arm around his shoulders and helps Derek to the couch. Derek sinks into the cushions with a groan.

“I’ll say this, if the liquid you’re making is as toxic as the fumes, you’re a genius.” Derek flops back onto the pillow.

Stiles tucks one of the blankets around Derek. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Stiles sits on the coffee table near Derek’s head and pulls his phone from his pocket to text his dad. 

**Staying at the loft tonight. See you in the morning.**

Stiles looks up and watches Derek watching him. Stiles reaches out and runs a hand over Derek’s forehead, smoothing his thumb over one of Derek’s eyebrows. “You scared me.”

“Will you stay?” Derek asks, and there is something vulnerable in his face that breaks open Stiles.

“I already texted Dad to let him know I’m staying here tonight.”

There’s relief mixed with openness on Derek’s face as he nods. Stiles’s hand is still on Derek, curled around the other man’s jaw. “I’m sorry. About the fumes. This was my fault.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s expression hardened. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I should’ve let you know I was there.”

Stiles leans back, his hand sliding to Derek’s shoulder. “Did you just say I was right about something, willingly and without growling?”

Derek frowns. “I take it back. Get out of my house.”

Stiles crows. “Too late. You said I was right and, more importantly, you were wrong. I’m not leaving now and cutting this gloating short.” 

Stiles gets up and does a little victory dance. Derek tries to keep frowning, but he breaks and chuckles, which only makes Stiles’s sense of victory sweeter. Stiles hums softly to himself as he goes through the loft, turning off lights and locking the door.

“Do you need anything else before I lay down?” Stiles pauses by the couch.

“No.”

Stiles toes off his shoes and considers his jeans. “I’ll be right back.”

He bounds up the stairs and into Derek’s room. In the second drawer he opens, he finds a worn pair of pajama bottoms and he exchanges his jeans for them. He looks down at his shirt, which probably still smells of fumes, and strips out of it. He finds a drawer of shirts and pulls one out. It fits him better than he thought it would, and he scoops up his discarded clothes. Stiles throws them in the washing machine before he goes back to the couch, hitting the light switch to off.

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

Stiles can’t place the sound in Derek’s voice. “I hope that’s okay. My clothes probably smelled like fumes and sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable.”

Stiles can’t see Derek in the dark. “It’s fine.”

The couch is a large sectional and their heads are positioned on opposite ends, but Stiles’s feet still bump against Derek’s as he stretches out. Stiles tries not to think much about it—his brain is not good at listening—and all Stiles can think about is feet and legs and bodies being tangled together. He has to get himself under control quickly. Stiles forces himself to repeat the formula he’s working on over and over while he presses his feet against Derek’s calves and falls asleep.

\---

As exhausted as healing the damage from the fumes makes him, it takes a long time for Derek to fall asleep. Having Stiles take care of him was a large enough blow to his self resolve, but seeing and smelling Stiles in his clothes is dynamite against his defenses. There are pages of reasons why Derek has kept his feelings for Stiles to himself. Derek has never had a relationship end well, and he doesn’t want Stiles to be ruined by whatever mess of a relationship Derek would drag him into. 

Derek drifts to sleep with his legs pressing against Stiles and his resolve barely in place.

He wakes to the sound of whimpering. Stiles is curled up in a tight ball on the far side of the couch. Derek can smell tears, fear, and grief hovering around Stiles as the sleeping man repeats “I’m sorry,” over and over in a litany.

Derek sits up and wraps his hand around Stiles’s ankle and shakes. “Stiles, wake up.” Stiles doesn’t wake, so Derek puts some alpha force behind his words, not that Stiles obeys any command Derek has ever given him. “Stiles, it’s a dream. Wake. Up.”

Stiles jerks awake, pulling great heaving breaths into his lungs and looking around wildly. He still reeks of fear when his wide eyes land on Derek, whose hand is still holding his foot. The scent of Stiles’s relief hits Derek a second before Stiles launches himself at Derek.

Stiles’s hands are everywhere, like he is checking to see if Derek is whole and real. “You were dead. It was my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Stiles’s voice hitches and he buries himself in the crook of Derek’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

Derek runs his hand rhythmically down Stiles’s back. “I’m fine, other than being poisoned by you earlier, I’m in one piece and will definitely live another day.”

Stiles’s heart rate slows and smooths, but he doesn’t move. Derek puts his nose in Stiles’s hair and takes a deep breath. “You’re okay,” Derek tells him.

Derek lays back down on his back, pulling Stiles with him. He tucks Stiles into his side—it’s tight with both of them on the couch but he doesn’t think either of them want to separate yet—and Stiles throws a leg over Derek’s while finding the right spot on Derek’s shoulder for his head. Stiles snuggles in and sighs.

Stiles is back asleep in less than a minute. Derek stays awake to savor the feel of Stiles in his arms. All his reasons for holding himself back have trouble competing with the reality of how much sleeping with Stiles feels like home and love and the place Derek was always meant to be.

Derek goes back to sleep but he’s uncertain that he can keep resisting the pull of Stiles Stilinski in his life.

Stiles is careful to keep the window open after Saturday’s events and goes straight back to work after Derek makes pancakes for breakfast. Stiles is hunched over his legal pad, one pencil in his hand and other in his mouth while he writes. Derek sneaks glances at him while Cora helps him clean up from breakfast. 

“Do you have plans today, other than pack training this afternoon?” Cora asks as she hands him plates to put away in the cabinet.

Derek’s eyes dart to Stiles then back to Cora. She makes a snorting noise.

“What?” he asks, turning his back to her to put away the plate in his hands and to hide his face from her prying eyes.

“I suppose if I gave you some advice you’d probably just ignore it.”

“Probably.”

Cora moves to stand next to Derek. She wraps her arm around his waist and leans into him. She keeps her voice low, not that Stiles is paying them any attention. “Whatever reason you’re clinging to to stay away from him? Let it go. You deserve to have nice things, brother.”

Stiles curses in the corner, mopping up whatever is leaking from a tube suspended above a beaker, then squawking when the liquid hits his finger.

Derek sighs and wants to roll his eyes, but he knows his face is more endeared than annoyed. “And Stiles is a nice thing?”

Cora chuckles. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Derek laughs. The sound causes Stiles to look up at both of them, smile, then look back down at his papers. The smile lingers on Stiles’s face, and Derek keeps watching him even though Cora is watching him.

“Just think about,” she presses.

_I barely think of anything else._ “I will,” he promises.

It’s early afternoon when the pack gathers in the open field where the Hale House used to stand. Derek had the structure torn down two years ago and had grass and trees planted in its place. One day, he might rebuild something more modest in its place, but for now what the pack needs is space to run and this provides that.

Everyone is in a circle around Derek. “Erica, you’re captain of team one. Theo, you’re captain of team two.” Derek throws a duffel bag with equipment into the middle of the circle.

Stiles is standing to Derek’s left, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What are we playing?”

Derek squats down, unzips the bag, and pulls out a frisbee. “Ultimate Frisbee. I’ll be ref since we have uneven numbers. Normal rules apply. Do not injure the humans and don’t break anything on the weres. This isn’t just about winning. This is about winning with control.”

The teams get divided quickly and the field markers are placed. The first three minutes are a steady back and forth. Then Erica’s team scores when Allison makes a jump catch in the endzone. After the first score, the games gets more serious, and more heated. The pack knows this is about physical control, but they still get in each other’s faces.

“Stilinski, you’re just as bad at frisbee as you are at lacrosse.” Theo rams his shoulder into Stiles.

Stiles throws an elbow into Theo’s diaphragm and the other man goes down to his knees as he tries to suck air into lungs that won’t work. “I might not be awesome at lacrosse, but I know how to play dirty.”

Stiles snatches up the frisbee and lobs it to Scott, who catches it in a diving roll before popping back up to his feet and throwing it across the goal to Lydia. The two teams work seamlessly, communicating with verbal and nonverbal cues. The score stays neck and neck almost the entire game until Malia takes Boyd’s legs out from under him and throws the frisbee into Theo’s waiting hands. Derek only has to intervene once, when Liam gets in Erica’s face and busts her nose with the edge of the frisbee.

Pride at the pack they’ve become fills Derek, and he lets that emotion flow freely through the pack bonds. At the end of the game, there are a lot of hugs and good natured ribbing.

“Liam, you made me bleed on my favorite shirt!” Erica looks forlornly at the red spatters on the batman shirt Stiles got her for Christmas last year.

Liam throws his arm over Erica’s shoulders. “Forgive me? I’ll do your laundry this week.”

“Including folding? Because just washing and drying is the easy part.” Erica pokes a finger into Liam’s side and he winces.

“Washing, drying, _and_ folding.”

“Deal.”

The sound of the _Imperial March_ fills the air and Stiles fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. Almost everyone can hear the entire conversation Stiles has with his dad even while they’re picking up the cones and running to the cars. 

Stiles presses end and looks up. “Dad wants Scott, Derek, Parrish, Boyd, and I to meet him at a crime scene.”

“We heard.” Lydia throws over her shoulder as she walks away.

“Pizza at the loft later,” Derek yells to everyone as they get in their cars. “Parrish and Boyd, you can ride with Stiles and me in the Jeep. Scott can follow us.”

Stiles hands Derek his phone. “Get the directions going while I drive.”

The crime scene is on the other side of town, off a hiking path that goes through the north side of a municipal park. Derek can hear the police chatter before they get out of the car. Noah is standing at the parking lot, waiting for them.

“Sorry to interrupt training,” he says to Derek, “but I needed you and Stiles to come look at something.”

“Does this have anything to do with the missing woman from last week?” Stiles asks, notebook and pen in hand.

Noah sighs. “Of course you already know about that.” He glares at Parrish and Boyd, who avoid looking at the sheriff directly. “A jogger found her body this morning. I want you to look at it without me coloring it for you, so follow me.”

Derek can smell the body long before they get there. Scott hangs back on the edge of the area where the police are working. Parrish, Boyd, and Stiles don’t even break stride as they approach the body, which really should worry Derek about what they’ve all been exposed to because this body is more gruesome than most. There’s a jagged wound in the abdomen of the woman and blood everywhere. Derek walks around the area, sniffing subtly, looking for something under the smell of death and terror. He keeps one eye on Stiles.

Stiles holds up a hand to his dad and Noah puts a glove into Stiles palm. Stiles slides on the glove with a snap and pokes a finger into the wound and lifts the skin to look inside the body.

“Her organs are missing.” Stiles slides his finger out of the cavity of the abdomen and moves up the woman’s face. He opens her mouth. “Tongue and teeth are intact, though. It seems from the amount of blood, she was still alive when she was killed and eaten before she bleed out. Whatever it was didn’t drink her blood, but it did eat her organs. Terrible way to go.”

Stiles lifts one of her hands and looks at her clean nails. “No defensive wounds so she was probably not conscious for whatever reason when it happened.”

Noah nods. “Yes. Any ideas.”

“Not yet.” Stiles looks up at his dad and stands up, his posture suddenly rigid. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Noah runs a hand over his face. “Another woman went missing today.”

“Three days.” Stiles is chewing on the end of his pen. “There are three days between when this victim was taken, when she was killed, and the next one was picked. Can you give me copies of the files on the victims?”

“Parrish, you come with me, I’ll get some copies and you can take them to Stiles. I have to stay here for a bit longer.” Noah turns to Derek. He’d been happy to be left out of the conversation until now. “Derek, are you getting anything?”

Derek takes another deep breath. “All I smell is death.”

They turn to Boyd, who nods in agreement.

Stiles whirls to face Derek. He has that intense look on his face he gets when he’s gathering all the pieces of a problem and trying to put them into something that resembles order. “Death? Like decomposition or blood or emotions or something else?”

Derek closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. “Decomposition and terror. More than should be here for a body that was just found and died in the last 24 hours.”

Stiles nods and jots down something on his pad.

“You have an idea?” Derek sidles up to Stiles and looks over the other man’s shoulder. The words and scratches make no sense to Derek. Stiles has his own version of shorthand, which only Lydia can read.

“Maybe. I need to look some stuff up.” Stiles starts walking back towards the cars when Noah’s voice stops them.

“Stiles, where should I have Parrish bring the files?”

Stiles chews on his lip then he looks at Derek. “The loft? The books I need are there.”

“Stiles, you can be at the loft anytime you want to be there.” Derek delivers the statement like it isn’t the bone deep truth that Stiles could be in Derek’s space 24/7 and he’d be welcome.

Noah clears his throat. “Stiles, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Derek walks away from them and goes over to where Parrish, Boyd, and Scott are standing near the trail. He knows he shouldn’t listen to the conversation between Stiles and his father, but he does anyway.

“What’s up, Dad?”

Out of the corner of Derek’s eyes he sees Noah put a hand on Stiles shoulder. “Do we need to have a talk?”

“About what?”

“About how much time you’re spending with Derek Hale, overnight, at his place? Do I need to have the safe sex talk with you again?”

Stiles chokes on an intake of breath. “Dad, werewolves, they can all hear you.”

“Good because maybe it’s a talk all of you need to have. I know Parrish is dating Lydia, Scott is with Kira, and Boyd lives with Erica.”

“Dad. No. Please stop.” Stiles is as red as an apple and the color is delightful on him, Derek thinks.

“Stiles.”

Stiles puts his hand over his dad’s. “It’s not like that.” Derek can hear Stiles swallow and sees the other man’s shoulders roll forward. “He doesn’t… I can’t. He’d never...” Stiles shakes himself and meets his Dad’s serious gaze. “Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen. Please, drop it.”

Derek expects the protests from Stiles to his dad. What he doesn’t expect is the resigned pain in the plea and the way it bores into Derek like a knife, each word slicing deep into his heart. Derek is familiar with all the nuances that are contained in Stiles’s voice, but the lack of hope in his voice now is something that Derek almost never hears and it kills him to know he put that there. Scott’s eyes cut to Derek, slip to Stiles, then back to Derek and his eyebrows slant down.

Derek’s back is to Stiles now, he can’t look at him, but he can hear Noah’s response as he forces himself to start walking to where the Jeep is parked.

“Stiles, you aren’t wrong often, but you don’t have the best judgement when it comes to Derek.”

“Exactly. I just… can’t.” Stiles barely gets out the last word, and Derek’s heart breaks over it. “I’ll text you if I find anything.”

Derek is leaning as casually as he can manage against the Jeep when Stiles jogs up to him. The smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Derek’s chest twists at that. “You just missed Scott and Parrish. Scott is going to drop Parrish off at his car. Boyd is getting a ride back to the station, then will meet us at the loft when he gets the files for you,” Derek tells him.

“Great, Lydia and I can look over it tonight and we can make a plan for the next day while we try to narrow down what exactly we’re looking for.” Stiles gets in the Jeep and turns the key in the ignition

Stiles drives and hangs onto the steering wheel as if that is the thing that’s grounding him. Derek rolls everything around in his head as Stiles drives. He thinks about what Cora said to him about Stiles and wonders if he’s done the right thing. He wants Stiles to be happy, but the scents coming off the other man are a mix of frustration and quiet despair. Stiles is trying to keep it under wraps though, so Derek stews in indecision. Derek’s fingers dig into his own thighs as he has to push down the tangle of emotions strangling him.

“You’re quiet,” Stiles says when they are about a minute from the loft. “I mean, you’re usually quiet, but I’ve learned to read your quiet as if you are actually talking. It’s a survival skill I’ve developed.” Stiles’s fingers are tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. He lifts a hand to wave at Derek. “This quiet means you’re thinking about something and it’s making you sad or pensive.”

“Pensive?” Derek asks.

“It means…”

“I know what it means.” Derek crosses his arms.

“I mean it’s not angry quiet, or annoyed quiet, or happy quiet. This is you thinking about a problem you can’t solve quiet.”

_Or a problem I don’t like the solution to quiet because the solution might well make everything infinitely worse._ “I don’t always know the right thing to do.” It’s as close to the truth as he can give Stiles at the moment.

Stiles parks the Jeep and stops Derek from getting out with a hand on Derek’s thigh. Stiles’s hand covers the place Derek’s hand was moments before. “Is this about being alpha? You haven’t worried about that in a long time.” Stiles’s hand squeezes Derek’s thigh, and Derek can feel the heat of the touch through his jeans. Stiles continues, “The pack is doing great. We’re a badass fighting team and we spend time together, voluntarily. I think we actually all care about each other. I even like Theo, who is a bigger asshole than I am. Absolutely do not tell him I said I liked him. You did that, Derek. You made us a pack.”

Derek lets Stiles think that’s the problem. He’s such a coward and this is so much easier. “I didn’t do it alone. You helped, more than you know.”

Stiles smiles at him, a real one, that breaks over his entire face like the sun at dawn and Derek basks in it even as his heart stutters. “C’mon. Let’s go inside. I want to get some research done before said pack descends on us in about an hour.”

The pack is subdued when they gather at the loft. They sit around the living room and Stiles pulls in the wheeled white board Derek bought for the loft two years ago. Stiles looks at Derek and Derek nods. This is a routine they know well and both of them fall into it.

“Right, so right now we don’t know much. This creature has attacked only women so far. It kidnaps them then, I think, three days later it eats all their internal organs. Derek, Scott, and Boyd all smelled something decomposing at the place where the body was left, so that may be what our monster smells like.” Stiles taps a dry erase marker on the board. “Lydia and I are going to try to find a connection between the victim and the missing woman and start looking for monster options. The rest of the pack is going to pair up and canvas town with your werewolfy noses.”

Derek watches Stiles as well as the pack listening to him. They look to Stiles for answers the way they look to Derek for guidance and direction. They treat Stiles like Derek’s second, though that role has never been explicitly assigned. It’s more than that, Derek admits. Stiles is part of the glue that holds all of them together, including himself. The Pack wouldn’t function without Stiles the way they wouldn’t function without an Alpha.

Derek has held himself back for years to allow Stiles to have choices, but what if Stiles never thinks to choose Derek because Derek never makes it an option? 

_Can I even lose something I don’t have?_

Stiles has stopped talking and is looking at Derek. Derek has no idea how Stiles ended the summary of what they know and what they are doing tomorrow, so he straightens up from where he’s been leaning on the counter. “Excellent plan.” Stiles preens a bit at the praise and Derek smiles indulgently at him. “But first, everyone is eating. We’ll look tonight until midnight then everyone is going home. We have a couple days and we can start again tomorrow morning.”

The pack jostles each other as they vie for seats at the large farmhouse style table. Derek stays in his place by the counter and senses, rather than sees, Stiles approach him. 

Stiles wraps a hand around Derek’s wrist. “You’re still pensive. Everything okay?”

Derek wraps a hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, seeking reassurance from the touch. “I don’t know.”

Stiles moves closer to him, crowding into Derek’s space. “Can I help?”

Stiles is always ready to jump in to help any of them, regardless of strength or ability, and is always willing to give more than he has if it means keeping his people safe. He would have made a great wolf, but he’s more valuable as a human and he’s already extracted a promise from Scott and Derek to never turn him unless that’s the only option. Stiles grounds the pack, anchors Derek, and Derek doesn’t know what to do about it. 

Derek tightens his hand on the back of Stiles’s neck before letting go. “I’ll let you know.”

\---

Monday goes by and the pack finds nothing. Stiles pours over books with Lydia and they turn up more nothing. To top it off, Derek has been avoiding him, and Stiles knows it has to be because of the conversation with his dad yesterday. Nothing except that has changed. 

Stiles didn’t need a reminder that his unrequited, definitely hasn’t faded over time feelings for the alpha are not welcome. He knows Derek cares about him—they’ve saved each other and bandaged too many wounds for Stiles not to know—but Derek cares for everyone in the pack. It’s his job as Alpha and it’s Stiles’s job to keep his feelings from ruining the best thing in his life.

Since yesterday, Derek has not only avoided being alone with Stiles as much as possible, he’s also been skulking around the loft, eyebrows farther down than normal. Stiles knows this is all somehow his fault. Fortunately for Stiles, he still has his lab set up in the loft so even though Derek is avoiding him, he can’t do it forever because Stiles is practically living here.

“Okay, Lyds, read me the list we have again.” Stiles is sitting upside down on the couch, with his feet over the back and his head hanging off the front.

“Chimera, but there’s no fire damage and the smell doesn’t fit. Fae, but they don’t tend to kill this way and they are more trickster, less gruesome death. Could be a gargoyle, but that would mean there is likely someone controlling it and we are hoping to cross it off for that reason alone.”

“Also no smell,” Stiles interjects.

Lydia nods. “Yes, no smell. The last one is a lamia, but they usually have a motivation for killing and we haven’t found one yet. The slash marks fit and in some of the stories, a lamia does have a smell.” Lydia sits down with a weary sigh and pats Stiles on the chest. “Why is it killing though? Most things, even monsters, have a reason.”

Stiles is tapping a finger on his chest. “We just haven’t found one. What else do we know about lamias? Read me the list on the card.” 

Lydia grabs the stack of index cards they’d made that morning. Each card has a different monster on it with characteristics and basic facts. Stiles flips off the couch, turns over the white board to expose the corkboard side, which already holds cards about the victims. Stiles puts the other possible monster cards in the bottom of the board in a row while Lydia reads.

“The first mention of the lamia is in Greek myths. In this tradition it is a half serpent woman, scorned by Zeus and Hera, who fed on children. In later myths, the half serpent woman was a seductress that seduced traveling men. Aristotle wrote about the lamia, saying that it fed on unborn children, ripping them from their mother’s wombs. Lovely. There are also references to some lamia’s having foul smelling testicles which led some later stories to feature them as more androgenous.” Lydia scrunched up her nose. “Smelly testicles is a new one. Why is this our life again?”

Stiles ignores the rhetorical question—the answer is obviously werewolves—crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. “Keeping in mind that half of what gets passed down as myth is total shit, what is likely here? The smell is an easy truth. What’s harder is what it eats.”

Lydia knows better than to talk to him while he’s thinking. He can see all the strings that connect everything together, but there’s some connection between the women that he’s missing. Stiles steps up so that he can trace the face of the first woman, touching each bullet point under her name before moving to the woman who is still missing. 

“Oh my God.”

“Did you figure it out?” Derek’s voice comes from right behind his shoulder and Stiles leaps in the air and squawks in a most undignified manner.

“Holy shit. Dammit, Derek. Again, make some damned noise.” His heart is pounding in his ears and he’s irritated Derek knows it too.

Derek looks anything but remorseful, a wide shit eating grin on his face. “Why would I, when the noise you make when I sneak up on you is so funny?”

Stiles punches Derek in the arm. “Ouch. Damn. I hate werewolves. So. Much.”

“No you don’t,” Scott breezes through the front door of the loft.

Malia is right on his heels. “Did Derek sneak up on you again?” She smiles viciously.

“No,” Stiles says indignantly.

Derek laughs.

Stiles has missed being close to Derek and has to work to maintain his anger. “I hate all of you. Just for that, I won’t tell you the answer to our mystery.” Stiles glares at all of them, but he is bursting with success and they all know he’s not going to hold out. “Both women have two children. They’re mothers. The first victim’s abdomen was slashed open, near her uterus, and all her organs were eaten. There are multiple myths where lamia are female and they eat children. The children part may not be accurate, but the general location of the feeding certainly is. Plus, there’s a foul smell that lingers.”

“Lamia,” Lydia says.

Stiles nods. “Lamia.”

“Great job. What should we do next?” Derek puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. It’s the first time Derek has willingly touched him in a day. Stiles hates himself that he knows that.

The weight of trust in those words should be a balm to Stiles, but all they do is remind him of what he wants from Derek and what he can’t have. Stiles covers up his feelings by thinking about what Derek is asking. He must not do a great job of pulling in his emotions because Derek’s eyes are boring into him and his hand tightens on Stiles’s shoulder.

Stiles blows out a breath and thinks. “The Bestiary is annoyingly vague on lamias. Lydia and I will fill details in as soon as this is over, so this is just guessing here, but there are multiple variations of the lamia myth, always a sure indicator that some of the information is real. In most of them, lamia live away from other living things, sometimes in abandoned buildings, or on sacred ground where they can, according to some stories, defile it for their demonic purposes. In one particularly lascivious version, the lamia seduces men to raise demons from hell.” Stiles waggles his fingers in the air.

Derek is smiling at him and Stiles wishes he could lean into that. Wishes are not something Stiles has time to indulge in.

Lydia stands up from where she is sitting on the couch. “Which means we’re looking for abandoned buildings on the edges of town. There aren’t any naturally occurring sacred spaces in Beacon Hills besides the Nemeton.”

Stiles moves around Derek, breaking their contact, to flip around the board again to the white side. He starts making a list. “We should still send a team to check out the Nemeton. What other areas should we canvas in the morning?”

“Why not go now?” Kira asks.

Derek turns away from Stiles to face the pack. “Because if we are unsure what we’re getting into and stumble into the lair of a monster at night, we aren’t the ones with the advantage.”

They make a list, and Stiles assigns teams to the areas of town they think most likely to have the right kinds of empty buildings. 

Derek has his hands on his hips; he’s gone into full alpha instruction mode. Derek being a competent alpha is sexy as hell and Stiles tries not to think about how he'd climb Derek like a tree if that was ever on the table. 

_Which it is not and will never be,_ he thinks with some bitterness.

Derek flicks his eyes to Stiles as if he can read his thoughts, and Stiles shoves all those feelings away. “This is reconnaissance only. Stiles has some new poison for those of us that use weapons. Once we figure out where the lamia is, we’ll regroup quickly and go in together. We still have two days before the lamia gets hungry so we have the time to do this right.”

Most of the pack leaves and heads to their own houses. Last night was a late night, so everyone is happy for a little reprieve before they go on the hunt tomorrow. Cora and Derek make pasta, and Stiles goes back to his work table. His poisons are cooking down into a thicker, more potent liquid. It should work well to coat Kira’s sword, Allison's arrows, and the knives Lydia has been using the last year. Parrish and Allison both wanted Lydia to have something besides her voice to rely on for protection.

Dinner is quiet, just the three of them, and Cora leaves as soon and the meal is over. Stiles takes over cleanup since he didn’t help with any of the cooking. When he finishes loading the dishwasher, Derek is leaning against the counter, watching him with an expression that Stiles can’t read.

“I think I have things at a stopping point here. I should probably go home. Get out of your hair. You’re probably tired of having me in your space for so long.” Stiles looks anywhere but at Derek, doesn’t think he can handle if he sees agreement there. “Look, I’m sorry about what my dad said yesterday at the crime scene. I’m sorry that he made assumptions. You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday so I’m sorry if that conversation embarrassed you or made you think that… I know you don’t feel that way… I would never give him the impression that… Fuck it, I’m leaving.”

Stiles wants the ground to swallow him up, wants the lamia to burst out of nowhere or his heart to spontaneously stop beating. Anything to keep his mouth from moving before he spills his guts to Derek who is looking at him like he’s grown a second head. Stiles turns—he’s not proud of it, but his dignity is sitting somewhere on the floor of the loft kitchen—and runs out of the loft.

Derek is yelling his name, but it has the opposite effect that Derek probably intends, and Stiles takes the stairs two at a time, sprinting towards the Jeep. His heart is beating quick and hard in his chest and he feels like he’s fleeing from something life ending instead of a man he can’t face with honesty. It’s only as Stiles shoves his hand in the pocket of jeans and comes up empty that he realizes his keys are still inside the loft, on the hook by the door. 

“Shit.” Stiles leans against the Jeep and weighs his options. He could call Scott to come pick him up, he could walk home, or he could stay with Boyd and Erica. Cora’s not really an option. Stiles has a feeling she’d drag him back to Derek by his ear. “Fuck.”

There’s a crunch of gravel behind him, so Stiles knows Derek made the noise on purpose. He does not want to have this conversation. He does not want to ruin the pack dynamic because he can’t keep his unwanted feelings in check. Stiles takes a deep breath, fists his hands, and turns around.

“Derek, I don’t want to mess up the pack. I don’t want to mess _us_ up, not that there’s anything _to mess up_. We make a good team. I don’t want to ruin it.” Stiles presses his shoulders into the Jeep. Everything is already a mess. He might as well lay everything out there. “Look, I know you care about me, but you care about everyone in the pack. I know it’s not more than that. I’m not naive. I know. I’m sorry that my feelings for you are different, but I don’t want you to avoid me just because I can’t keep my feelings to myself. We can still be a team. Don’t push me away for this.” Stiles detests the neediness in his voice, hates that he can’t keep himself in check in this one area of his life that he desperately needs to reign in.

“Stiles, you don’t know anything, shut up.” Derek steps into his space, crowding him against the Jeep and it feels like all the times they’ve done this before, except it doesn’t. There’s a current in the air that feels heavier and dances along Stiles’s skin.

Stiles clamps his mouth shut and looks at Derek until the other man closes the space completely and rests their foreheads together. “Shut up for a minute,” Derek says, taking a deep breath. He rubs their noses together then continues to breathe in as he buries his face in Stiles’s neck. “Give me a second.” 

For once, Stiles does what Derek asks, but staying silent is killing him when he has so many questions ping ponging through his brain. _Did Derek have an alpha moment and need to connect with Stiles or does this mean Derek likes him? Does Derek more than like him? Derek never scents anyone else this long, except that one time right after Cora came back. What does this mean? How long does he have to be quiet?_ They are so close Stiles wants to kiss Derek with a need that is painful. _Why is Derek shaking?_

“Are you laughing?” Stiles tries to push Derek away, but Derek’s arms tighten.

“Your thinking is as loud as your mouth.” Derek pulls back enough that Stiles can see his face, and Derek has the remnants of a smile on his lips, but his eyes are serious.

Stiles experiences a brief moment of horror. “You can’t read my thoughts, can you because,” Stiles swallows and does some quick calculations, “that would probably be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll have you know I’m the king of awkward situations of my own making.”

Derek chuckles. “I can’t read your mind but I can tell when your mind is working overtime. Your energy feels different, you feel different.”

“I can’t decide if that’s creepy or cool,” Stiles says. 

Derek hasn’t moved. He’s still standing close enough to Stiles that Derek’s body from the waist down is flush against Stiles and all the self control in the world is not going to help Stiles hide his reaction from Derek for much longer. Not when the star of nearly every fantasy Stiles has had for the last four years is pressed close to him in the dark after shoving his face into Stiles’s neck.

Derek’s smile fades. “You mix me up all the time until I don’t know what’s the right thing to do anymore.”

_That sounds hopeful._ Stiles takes a chance and rests his hands on Derek’s hips. “You were about to tell me that I don’t know anything.”

“You know about a lot of things, but you don’t know how I feel about you.” Derek presses his lips together into a line. “That’s my fault. I thought if I didn’t tell you, you’d be able to make other choices for yourself, something better than what you could have here, but I know now that you can’t make a choice if you don’t know all the options on the table.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hips. “First off, that’s a lot of words for you. I’m proud.” Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles grins at him. “Second, just to clarify, are you one of my choices or is this a conversation about me being a pack druid or emissary or whatever?”

Stiles can see the moment Derek decides he’s out of words to explain whatever may or may not be happening. His next breath is cut off when Derek closes every bit of space between them. One of Derek’s hands slides to the back of Stiles’s head and pulls them together, while the other hand eases around Stiles’s waist, pressing into the small of his back. He uses both leverage points to crush Stiles to him while Derek slides into Stiles’s mouth and devours him.

Stiles has imagined this with so many variations and he’s not surprised that his fantasies don’t come within a thousand miles of the heat roaring through him. He doesn’t hesitate. Stiles gives Derek back as good as he’s getting. He’s waited too long not to and he allows his hands to roam freely.

Stiles kisses down Derek’s neck to the juncture between his neck and shoulder and bites down. The noise Derek makes goes straight to Stiles’s already aching dick, and Stiles rubs against Derek in an effort to get some friction. Stiles’s hands grab Derek’s ass and pull him closer as his mouth finds Derek’s lips again. Stiles plunges into Derek’s mouth and Derek’s hands ruck up Stiles’s shirt and press along Stiles’s ribs.

There’s a noise from the building that Stiles ignores in his effort to unbutton Derek’s pants to get his hands where they desperately want to be. The voice that follows the noise is harder to ignore.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you two have finally decided to stop moping like a couple of teenagers, but can you please not have sex in the parking lot.” Cora’s voice is more amused than angry. “Get a room.” She chuckles and Stiles can hear the window of her loft close.

They’re both panting and holding on to each other. Derek leans back, eyes searching Stiles’s face. Derek looks wrecked. His lips are swollen and, even in the light of the streetlamps, Stiles can see the high color on Derek’s cheeks. 

Stiles licks his lips and Derek tracks the movement. “Do you want me to come back upstairs?”

“Yes, but only if you want to.” Derek’s voice is low and there’s a hint of uncertainty there that Stiles hates.

Stiles cups Derek’s face in his palms, running his thumbs over Derek’s cheekbones. “Of course I do. There’s no place I’d rather be, but I do have a stipulation.”

Derek stills. “Anything.”

“This isn’t a casual thing, not for me. I don’t want to take this any farther if this isn’t moving in a serious direction. We can put the brakes on this and go back to where we were before, though that kiss is going to be in my fantasies for the rest of my life. I’m not doing this halfway.”

Derek covers Stiles hands with his own. “Stiles, you don’t do anything halfway.” Derek takes a deep breath through his nose and nods. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t date much.”

“Oh, I noticed. You have incredibly poor taste in partners, if we’re rehashing.” Stiles smiles at Derek, hopeful that this is going to exactly where he wants it to end—with both of them naked.

Derek swallows. “It never seemed worth it after Jennifer.” 

Stiles growls at the mention of her name and he wishes she wasn’t dead so he could kill her again.

Derek moves to take Stiles’s hands and threads their fingers together. “You were the only one I wanted so I didn’t want to waste my time on anyone else. You were never anything casual in my life. You never will be. I’ve been completely yours for a long time and nothing we do or don’t do will change that.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hands and leans in to brush a light kiss across his lips. “Oh my God, you’re a secret romantic. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

Derek closes the door to the loft and Stiles takes his hand, leading him up the stairs and down the hall to Derek’s room. Derek hesitates at the doorway, as if he’s going to change his mind or come up with some other half-baked, self-sacrificing reason why they should not be ripping each other’s clothes off. Stiles needs to banish that train of thought completely.

Stiles yanks Derek all the way in the room and shoves him up against the wall. Derek lets himself be pushed, and Stiles smiles wickedly as he drags Derek's shirt over his head and takes possession of the other man’s mouth, licking into it and pulling on Derek’s lip. Derek makes a greedy noise and his hands squeeze hard on Stiles’s hips. Stiles cants his hips into Derek, both hard and aching, and Stiles desperately needs to get Derek’s pants off.

Derek yanks Stiles’s shirt over his head. Stiles is annoyed when the movement keeps his arms from getting the zipper on Derek’s jeans down, but the fissure of heat when the skin of their chests meet almost makes Stiles’s knees buckle. Stiles slides his body down Derek’s and kneels at Derek’s feet, pressing the heel of his palm along Derek’s straining erection. Derek finishes taking off his jeans, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.

Stiles takes a deep breath to appreciate this moment, running his hands slowly up Derek’s thighs as the other man presses his back into the wall. “Is this okay? We haven’t talked about what exactly we’re doing.” Stiles leans forward and places a gentle kiss at the top of Derek’s right leg, the heat of Derek’s cock warm on his cheek. “Consent is sexy, you know.”

Derek huffs out a laugh and cups the side of Stiles’s face. “I trust you. I’m fine with whatever you’re comfortable doing.”

The tenderness in Derek’s eyes undoes Stiles and his hands tighten on Derek’s thighs. “Excellent, because I have quite an imagination.”

Derek’s smile is wide. “Maybe not all at once.”

“Oh no, I think we’ll have plenty of time to work through my list.”

“Stop talking so much and put your mouth where it belongs.” Derek pulls at Stiles’s hair.

Stiles laughs. “Well, that’s one way to shut me up that you haven’t tried. I think this is my favorite so far.”

“You’re still talking.”

“You’re still too bossy,” Stiles quips right before he grabs Derek and sucks down his cock in one go, running his tongue along the hard length. 

Stiles can taste Derek on his tongue and he braces himself with both hands on Derek’s hips as he begins a low and devastating rhythm. Derek’s hands card through Stiles’s hair and tighten when Stiles pulls back, sucking in his cheeks. The noises Derek makes, needy and high, go straight to Stiles’s already aching cock. Stiles hums with pleasure at the knowledge that he is the one driving Derek to this state. 

Derek growls at the extra sensation and his hips jerk into Stiles, and Stiles adds his hand to his movements. 

“Stiles, I’m not going to last like this.” Derek’s voice is breathy and forced.

Stiles pops off with an obscenely wet sound. “We have all night, Sourwolf. This is just round one.” 

Derek’s breath stutters. Stiles grins and gets back to work. Derek doesn’t protest again and Stiles can see and feel when he stops holding himself back. Derek throws his head back against the wall with a thud and allows Stiles to set a fast pace, Derek’s hips jerking into Stiles’s face. Stiles is filled with the sensation of Derek in his mouth, Derek’s body under his hands, and Derek’s hands in his hair and around his head. Stiles isn’t sure he’s going to last through this either.

Derek makes a keening noise and that’s all the warning Stiles gets before he’s swallowing everything Derek is pumping into his mouth. Stiles holds him until the other man goes still. He slides off and looks up at Derek, skin flushed and eyes flashing between red and hazel. He’s the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen. 

Stiles reaches down and presses his hand against his own erection and hisses at the pressure.

Derek looks down at him and frowns. “You have too many clothes on.”

Derek pulls Stiles to his feet and shoves him towards the bed. Stiles undoes his pants as he goes and Derek pushes him down to the bed while yanking off Stiles’s pants in the same movement. Stiles scoots back on the bed, and Derek stalks up his body until their noses are touching. Derek presses his hips into Stiles, and Stiles whines at the friction. 

It’s Derek’s turn to smile wickedly as he places a nipping kiss at the corner of Stiles’s mouth before sliding down Stiles’s body. Derek moves infuriatingly slow, every small movement causing fissures of sensations to spread over Stiles’s skin, cracking him open. The feel of Derek’s chest sliding over his cock has Stiles fisting his hands in the sheets. By the time Derek finally gets his mouth around Stiles, Stiles is certain he is going last about three seconds.

It’s heady, having their roles reversed like this, and Stiles pushes up into Derek’s mouth, his hands pulling Derek’s hair. Derek’s tongue is doing sinful things to Stiles. One of Derek’s hands follows his mouth as it moves and the other slides down and presses against Stiles’s ass. Derek looks up at Stiles between his lashes and he’s so vulnerable, Stiles follows Derek’s mouth with his hips. 

Stiles has completely lost control of his mouth and is just repeating Derek’s name like a prayer before he shoves into Derek’s warm mouth and spills years of pent up need down Derek’s throat. Derek swallows all of it and licks at Stiles when he’s done. 

Stiles pulls at Derek. “Come back up here.”

Derek slides up the bed and they fumble around, laughing until they are both under the sheets facing each other. “Better?”

Stiles presses into Derek. “Much.”

Derek pushes his face into Stiles’s neck and breathes him in. Stiles kisses Derek’s forehead and they lay that way for a long time while their heart rates slow and their breathing evens out.

“Thank you.” Derek’s voice is warm against Stiles’s skin.

“Give me a few minutes to recover and I’ll give you a few more reasons to be thankful.” Stiles wraps his hand around Derek’s cock and gives him a squeeze.

They don’t get much sleep that night.

\---

The next morning, Stiles doesn’t know what to expect in the light of day, but he shouldn't have worried. Derek drags him into the shower, where they take way longer than needed because they have way too much fun with the soap, and then they have breakfast like an old married couple. It’s easy, even while it’s new, and they both lean into it. 

Stiles keeps counting his fingers when he thinks Derek isn’t looking. The third time he does it, Derek catches him and kisses him shyly until they both lean into it and end up panting and hard.

The pack goes out to canvas the town while Lydia and Stiles finish up the poisons Stiles has been making. Allison leaves a quiver of arrows and an array of other weapons that she pulled out of all kinds of hiding places, including one very high up on her thigh. Lydia has her knives out on the table and they are talking about the best way to apply the poison and if they’ll need a second coat when Lydia grins at him.

“So you and Derek finally figured out some stuff.”

Stiles can feel his face heating. “Perhaps.”

Lydia puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t perhaps me, Stiles Stilinski. I want some details. Well, not _all_ the details.”

“Turns out Derek is really fantastic at Parcheesi. Who knew?” Stiles waggles his eyebrows at her.

Lydia punches him in the arm. “I don’t know why we're friends.”

“It’s because no one else in the pack is as smart as we are. We have to stick together. Could you imagine if they had to make plans on their own? Or do research?”

“They’d never survive.”

“Exactly.”

Lydia jabs a finger into his chest. “Changing the subject won’t work.”

Stiles lets out a breath. “Honestly, we had a bit of a misunderstanding, made out by the Jeep in the parking lot until Cora yelled at us, then we came back upstairs and had amazing sex all night.”

Lydia gives him a high five. “Good job. I’m proud of you. I’m also grateful we don’t have to listen to you pining anymore.”

“Lydia Martin, I do not pine.”

Lydia levels him with a look that has cowed monsters. “You’re the king of pine. You pine so hard they make car air fresheners shaped like your face.”

Stiles laughs. “I love you too, Lyds.”

“Enough chatting. We have work to do.”

It’s half past noon when both their phones buzz. Stiles dives for his phone, anxiety spiking. The pack could have found the lamia, but it could also be a message that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong. The Hale Pack has bad enough luck that Stiles never expects good news when they are out hunting.

It’s a message from Scott to the group. **Found the lamia. Casing exits and area. Will take pictures. Meet back at @loft.**

Stiles slips his phone into his pocket. “One more coat to be safe?”

Lydia nods. “One more.” She picks up the brush and again and starts working on the knives. “Did you make an antidote for this?”

“I have something I think will work,” Stiles hedges.

“You think?” Lydia raises an eyebrow at him.

“88% positive.” Stiles gives her a thumbs up.

Lydia does not look convinced. “That much?”

“Maybe 80%. I didn’t want to test it on a live subject in case it doesn’t work.”

There is some noise outside on the stairs and the pack files into the loft. Derek is bringing up the rear of the group and his eyes go straight to Stiles. His lips tilt up and Stiles grins wide. Grinning at Derek like he knows what he looks like undressed is something Stiles can do now and Stiles has to hold himself back from cackling with glee.

Scott throws the keys to his bike on the counter. “Didn’t want to test what if it didn’t work?”

Lydia puts down the last knife on the drying rack. “The antidote to the poison Stiles made.”

Stiles opens another window now that all the wolves were back. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Stiles pauses and smirks. “Come to think of it—I should have tested it on Theo.”

Theo moves fast and punches Stiles before Stiles can move out of the way. Derek starts to move towards them but Stiles holds up a hand to stop him and doesn’t hesitate. He catches Theo in the back of the knees with his foot. Theo windmills his arms in a truly comedic fashion and would have fallen on his face, but Liam catches him. The two teeter dangerously before regaining their balance. Theo glares at Stiles but there’s no heat in his eyes. All three of them laugh until they end up in a pile on the floor. 

They eat a quick lunch, then Scott plugs his phone into the tv and the pack gathers around to look at the pictures of the site. Derek stands next to Stiles, and Stiles wraps his arm around Derek’s waist because he wants to. Stiles taps his fingers against Derek’s hip and squeezes. The pressure of Derek’s body against Stiles is slow moving lava, covering Stiles by degrees with heat. There are so many things Stiles would rather be doing right now that do not involve stalking and killing a foul smelling monster.

Erica wrinkles her nose, but her eyes are sparkling with suppressed laughter. “You two are disgusting.”

Kira puts her chin in her hands. “Aw, I think they’re adorable.”

Derek’s ears are bright red and he clears his throat in the most disapproving way possible even as he slips his arm around Stiles.

Stiles waves his left arm at the screen. “Can we get back to work now?”

The plan is a simple surround and takedown, and the pack breaks up to prepare for an evening of work. They want to get to the warehouse Scott located before full dark falls. Stiles grabs the backpack that he lovingly calls his Kick Ass Bag. Inside are all the things a budding scientist druid needs, plus some snacks because Stiles learned the hard way that getting stuck in the woods with no snacks and water sucks. A lot. And werewolves never think to bring anything to a fight but claws.

Stiles puts the all-purpose antidote he made for wolfsbane and mistletoe in one of the compartments of the bag. He also checks to make sure that the jar of salve and the bottle of powder he made that aided healing are tucked into their own compartments. The healing salve and powder he has tested, on Scott and Malia, and it worked great on minor wounds. Luckily, Stiles hasn’t had to test it on anything major, but he’s sure Beacon Hills will provide soon enough. Hopefully, not too soon.

Last, Stiles pulls on a red hoodie. It’s different than the one he wore in high school. This is one he had custom made from cut resistant material to make it less likely to be ripped by claws and waterproofed enough to repel venomous spit. It was a little cliche, to wear red and run with wolves, but Stiles leaned into it. Tricking monsters into thinking Stiles is a run of the mill human tends to bite them in the ass when he grabs a bottle of exploding powders or makes contact with his bat layered with different poisons.

Stiles parks the Jeep behind Derek’s truck, about a quarter of a mile from where the warehouse is located. The truck is black and shiny with a raised cover over the bed, which has come in handy for hauling off the bodies of whatever monster they’ve killed or for getting injured pack members to safety quickly. The others park their cars behind Stiles and they move silently towards their prey.

Stiles sees the building for the first time in person and grunts. “Those windows up top are going to be a problem.”

The warehouse isn’t big. It’s only three stories high, but the corner of the top floor is all windows. The wolves are going to cover all the exits when they go in. Lydia and Stiles are responsible for manning the perimeter. 

As soon as the wolves move close to the building, Stiles reaches into his Kick Ass Bag and pulls out a pouch of mountain ash. He focuses his intent and says, “ _Barrera,”_ before throwing a handful of the dust on the ground. 

The spell doesn’t have to be said in any particular language, so Stiles has been trying it in a different one each time. Tonight, it’s Spanish.

There’s the smell of ozone in the air and citrus, then the ash runs the circumference of the building, locking the weres inside with the lamia. Though Stiles has performed this spell countless times, there’s still a thrill from feeling the spell pop into place and knowing that he has done this one task in defense of his pack. 

Derek turns before he enters the building and locks his hazel eyes on Stiles. Stiles knows the wolf can hear him, so he says, “Come back to me in one piece,” in a low whisper.

Derek inclines his head, then disappears through the door, and Stiles and Lydia wait.

They don’t wait long. There is a roar, angry and laced with power, that yanks something in Stiles’s gut so he knows it's Derek. The air is cut with a chorus of more howls—wolves, a coyote, and a kitsune on the hunt. There’s a beat of quiet followed by the sound of glass breaking overhead.

“Damn windows. Knew that was going to be a problem,” Stiles mutters as he scoots back with Lydia until they are just outside the circle of ash. 

The lamia digs its claws into the side of the building in an effort to slow its descent to the gravel and concrete below, but it still slams into the ground with a sickening crunch. The monster is larger than Stiles expects. On all fours, it’s the size of the Jeep, with the upper body of a hag and the torso of a lizard with the orange and black coloring of a Gila monster. There are two arrows sticking out of the back of the lamia and one arrow shaft in its chest. Black and green radiate from the wound.i

“Notice the coloring,” Stiles says to Lydia. “Could be poisonous.”

“Of course it is.” Lydia sighs and grips the knives in her hands tighter. “Looks like Allison got in some shots.”

The lamia shakes the glass off and sniffs the air before turning in the direction where Stiles and Lydia are standing. It hisses and the sounds rakes across their skin, causing it to break into gooseflesh, and charges at them. The lamia bounces back with a roar and smoking skin when it hits the barrier Stiles threw down. The monster puts its head down and runs at them again, bouncing into the barrier with a loud crunch of breaking bones.

“Not too bright, is it?” Lydia flips the knife in her hand and shifts to balls of her feet. 

“You know what coach always said—the bigger they are the bigger they are.” Stiles bounces onto his toes and grips his bat.

He times the swing perfectly and the bat makes contact with the temple of the lamia’s hag face. The monster staggers, and Lydia uses the opportunity to dive in and slice the creature on the neck before jumping back behind the circle again. Light green blood coats her knife and drips from the wound at the lamia’s throat. The blood hisses as it hits the ground.

“Gross,” Stiles says but it can barely be heard over the furious roar from the lamia.

Scott bursts from one of the side doors, Malia and Kira on his heels. Theo, Allison, and Parrish round the corner of the building. Theo is wolfed out and Parrish is flaming. Liam and Derek bring up the rear. Derek’s arm is thrown around Liam’s shoulder and Derek’s shirt is in tatters and covered in blood. His right hand is covering his stomach and a wet fear grows in Stiles’s throat. 

The lamia is swaying on its feet, poisoned from Allison’s arrows and dizzy from Stiles’s bat when the pack descends on it. They don’t need Stiles for this part, so Stiles doesn’t stand around to watch. He runs to Liam and Derek.

“What happened? I told you to come back in one piece.” Stiles helps Liam lay Derek down on the ground.

“I’m all here.” Derek is pale and there are white lines of pain around his eyes. “I don’t think I left any parts of me behind.”

Stiles lifts up Derek's shirt and does not stop the very wolf-like whine that escapes his throat. Derek’s torso is a mess, torn to shreds by the lamia’s claws and barely holding in his organs in a couple of places. That is troubling enough, but the edges of the wounds are a bright green, the color of the lamia’s blood.

“I should have been more specific and said don't get hurt, you idiot. I can see your insides.” Stiles is starting to panic at the damage.

Derek’s breathing is labored. “It’s just some scratches. I’ll be fine.”

“You will not be fine,” Stiles snaps. He grabs the salve and the powder out of his bag. “Surprise, the lamia has poisonous claws.” Stiles scoops a generous portion of the salve onto his fingers. “I’m sure this is going to hurt like hell, but suck it up buttercup and think twice before you get slashed open next time.”

Derek’s breath hitches as Stiles rubs the healing salve over Derek’s wounds. It’s gross and little black dots appear on the edges of Stiles’s vision, but Derek needs him to do this, so he clenches his teeth and does his job. Stiles says a lot of colorful words and sweat breaks out on Derek’s forehead, his clenched hands dripping blood as his claws dig into them. When Stiles is done, he covers the wounds in a clean cloth from his Kick Ass Bag.

Stiles cups the side of Derek’s face when he is done, heart still pounding and brain focused. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts like hell, but it’s not getting worse. I think I’ll live another day.” Derek gives him a weak smile.

Stiles spares a moment to smile at Derek. “Scott, Parrish, and Liam. Carry Derek to the bed of the truck. He should be able to walk by the time we get home, but he’ll still have some healing to do.”

Derek doesn’t protest and everyone does as Stiles says. He walks beside the others, tight lipped and watchful, as they carry Derek. Allison and Kira crawl in the back with him. 

“We’ll make sure he’s okay on the ride home.” Allison reaches out and holds Derek’s left hand and Kira picks up his right. 

“I’ll drive the truck.” Liam gets in the driver’s side door and the truck revs to life.

Stiles nods his thanks and closes up the back. He watches as the truck drives away. He can swallow past the fear now that he thinks Derek will be safe; a little bruised, but healing. Stiles allows himself to shake a little with leftover adrenaline. He allows himself a small freakout now when he'd been unwilling to show Derek how bad it had been before. Stiles puts a trembling hand on the Jeep and takes a deep breath.

Parrish comes to stand beside him. “Your dad is on his way. We can handle the lamia body. Go take care of Derek.”

Stiles nods and heads to the loft. He drives a little too fast, unable to keep all of the fear at bay.

Derek is laying on top of the covers of his bed when Stiles makes his way through the loft and up to Derek’s room. The pack is downstairs assessing injuries and hovering to make sure Derek will recover. Stiles bursts through the door in his haste, and Derek tries to sit up when Stiles enters the room.

Stiles pushes on Derek’s shoulder. “Lay down. Stop acting like I didn’t just see your liver and large intestine in the last hour.” Stiles runs his hands over Derek, checking for other wounds, letting himself be assured that Derek is indeed whole.

“The claw marks are all gone.” Derek lifts the towel and, sure enough, the only indication that Stiles had been rubbing salve into open wounds thirty minutes ago is red angry lines and deep purple bruises. “Should be healed up soon. I’ve never healed this fast. I thought you said the lamia was poisonous.”

“It was.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles. A question.

“I put that new salve I made on your injuries. See how helpful my science experiments are?”

Derek shakes his head. “I never said they weren’t useful. I said they’re dangerous because you keep emitting noxious fumes into the air, spilling toxins in the loft, and almost setting things on fire.”

“But,” Stiles waves his arms, “useful, right?”

Derek huffs, but his eyes are fond. He reaches out a hand, grabs Stiles’s arm, and yanks him closer. Derek’s lips meet Stiles’s and his tongue darts into Stiles mouth. Before Stiles has time to react, Derek draws back, pulling on Stiles lower lip. “I’m still setting you up a lab on the floor below me. With a vent hood.” 

Stiles leaps forward and presses his lips against Derek’s, squishing their faces together with more enthusiasm than seduction. “My own lab? You do love me.”

Derek rolls his eyes and squeezes Stiles’s hand. “Jury’s still out.” 

“I won’t tell anyone else you’re going soft.” Stiles crawls into bed with Derek, and Derek turns and snuggles into Stiles. Their bodies know exactly the right way to fit together, warmth and safety twined with trust and love. Stiles kisses the top of Derek’s head and they both fall asleep. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
